Overhauled
by Nikosaur
Summary: If Overhaul is Eri's father, well, there'd be a backstory somewhere.


**While I don't believe Chisaki and Eri are related, it does make good material for a story. The sort that Edeavour the still shittier dad and husband shouldn't.  
** **Oh well, if I don't die laughing seeing Shigaraki and Overhaul together and telling everyone they're actually Shiina and Isana, maybe I'll be 'cleaned' off the planet by my friends.**

* * *

One fine day Chisaki lost his gloves. How he could lose them was a mystery he never solved. He just lost them both together.

Overhaul had outdone himself that day. Though the Yakuza were a dying breed they weren't all that dead. He'd reassembled all those 'sick' thugs who'd been invading their turf.

As he sat by the back alley chair which his subordinates had cleaned (while they searched) a sudden motion attracted his keen attention.

A young woman or girl stood there looking curiously at him. She was so out of place he'd no idea how to react.

"Are you by chance looking for your gloves"

'Huh? Who was this ill woman? Why did she know?', he wonders but says nothing, waiting to assess what she'll do.

She approaches him and stands right in front of him

"You're really shy, aren't you?", she asks looking down at him, "Really shy for such a rude customer."

That sentence sounded like a threat to anyone but him. She was so so sick she couldn't even intimidate anyone.

"And so what if I'm rude? Where are my gloves you...?"

Before he could finish his sentence she opens her handbag as if to pull out a gun. He readies himself to strike - his hand was bare, her error - but she pulls out what looks like folded rubber kerchief.

"You left them in the cafe I work at after those long arguments you got into about how dirty it was with everyone"

So saying she hands him back his gloves, neatly folded.

Ah, they'd have three less employees right now and yet even _she_ didn't notice it. How very rusted! He could've left the last one that ran to be dealt by his subordinates but he wasn't willing to considering how badly that one needed to be remedied. He still didn't see how he could possibly lose both gloves. Anyway, her neatness impressed him.

* * *

"Take that mask off", she orders petulantly.

"No. There's too much dust!", Chisaki tells her, his voice taking on an angry tone.

"I'll do it then!", she yells and before he can stop her she puts her hands to undo the clasp. Without gloves he can't struggle; desperate he lets out a sharp yelp, stopping her.

 _'That_ worked?'

She is startled but still does not let go of the mask's clasp. And he cannot move - what if her finger touches skin?

"That was rude. I even cleaned the place up for you!", she pouts, looking irritable but very hurt.

He runs into her every so often by 'accident' in the area beyond his turf, beyond the shadows. He wanted to investigate her but found nothing.  
Also, she _did_ invite him home. He even took off his gloves to throw off any hints about his quirk. So far she'd really treated him courteously and honestly he couldn't find fault with her house at all - it was neat and sparkling clean.

Guilt bites at him and just to be a _little_ nice he tells her how sick the air is.

"Don't be crazy. There is _no_ way the air is sick!"

So saying she swiftly pulls his mask off.

Chisaki glares at her, reaching out for his mask that she holds behind her, and is unable to trying as he is trying to not go too near her. She is giggling away like a little girl.

'A little devil girl with horns', he thinks to himself.

Her mirth at his predicament should irk him. He should be feeling distressed. He should think her sick for doing something like this - want to cure her. Yet...he's afraid. Afraid because she is so happy. Afraid he'll hurt her.

* * *

Looking back he's glad he had spaced out.

If he hadn't...

He'd never have been kissed by her.  
Never have tried to change things.  
Never have learned that fate brought her to him.

Her quirk nullified quirks on touch. It was weak, but it was enough. Enough for him to know he wouldn't have to fear watching her disintegrate every time he touched her.  
That he wouldn't have to put her back again.  
That she wouldn't grow terrified of him.

* * *

He could do it for hours - it fascinated him. The contact of skin on skin without anything happening to the her. Tracing the shell of her ears, her tiny nose; running his fingers along her round face, her wrists, her toes; just holding her hand.

It amused her too more than anything. She let him do as he pleased, always looking at him affectionately while he played around.

If he thought about it afterwards - he was sick! Madness this was!  
And every time he thought he wouldn't go to see her, he'd convince himself that this would be the last. Every time for weeks and months. And even if he wished to cure himself, he never once wished to cure her. Her 'illness' - her contentment with their secrecy, their 'relation', her acceptance of him - to him it made no sense, yet he didn't want to cure her, ever.

It was selfishness on his part but it was also because it _was_ an incurable illness - love, that is. Though it probably took him over a year to fit a name to it.

* * *

He told her about his quirk right after the first kiss when he kept rambling about it because he couldn't believe what just happened. She'd caught hold of his hands in hers and was staring up at him, listening. And she didn't disintegrate even though he wasn't even controlling it the way his mind was scrambled.

To tell her about the Yakuza, his work, his boss, their plans - he couldn't. Not till long, long later. Especially because they'd often fight, he'd didn't want to jeopardize the way things were.  
He was often away for days. He had to tell her in the end - there is always a set way of things. There was no way he could not. Especially when their arguments veered into such territory.

She accepted it initially till he kept talking about it a little too much - about reviving the yakuza. Scared she was often of his 'plans' though she tried not to show it.

He saw less of her over the weeks due to work.  
When he met her next she told him she was going home for a while. He never asked her where it was.  
Almost a year later she died.

He'd traced her by then, was affected by the rejection - he perceived it as running away. He kept his composure though - his was a life he'd pledged to his group. A life he'd known since forever and he _was_ their leader. He let her go because he would not go to her. It wasn't a big deal - when she was angry, she'd often called him cold. It wasn't a malady - his nature was logical, had sense, was set in a definite path.

So he content himself killing a 'few' sick insects, cleansing the streets of its disease, its stupidity.

Maybe it was fate too, their parting.

* * *

The contact he'd put on her trail spurted it suddenly, out of nowhere one day - how he knew about the relation, he eliminated him for it. 'She died of childbirth, it may have been his.'  
If the child had his quirk all the more reason so. When he took her away, he found the case far more interesting. Eri he named her.

He would never have wanted a child - it was too troublesome, those little sickly, dirty creatures! He didn't even know the first thing about children. And though she would surely resemble her mother he felt not a thing for her initially. Looking at Eri made him guilty, uncomfortable-would she still have died had he gone to her?

He brought Eri back as his daughter to his surprised but discreet subordinates and left her care to them. He would keep her, raise her, give her everything she could need.

And Eri, with her quirk, she was a perfect fit for his plan.


End file.
